


Go To Hell

by Phoenix0in0the0dark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Nightmares, Post-Hell, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Somewhere in Season 8, Warnings for Hell Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix0in0the0dark/pseuds/Phoenix0in0the0dark
Summary: Dean dreams of Hell, and finds more comfort than he thought he would in his family.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted some Hurt!Dean and comfort, so here we go:

The quiet was always the worst. The screaming, the cursing, even the gasping pleas became bearable after a while. The silence was much like the calm before a hurricane, tornado, and earthquake all rolled into one.

The silence meant he was coming.

It meant Alistair was coming.

It meant that it was Dean’s turn.

You would think that after seemingly millennia down here that he would have built up some sort of tolerance to this kind of pain. But, no. Having your kidney carved out was still agony. Being drowned and resurrected was still watered down to pure desperation and fear. Becoming a favorite, or maybe hated, chew toy to a Hellhound was still enough to make him writhe in pain.

He’d lost the ability to scream a while ago, but that didn’t stop Alistair from trying to wring little choked gasps and pained tears from behind his tightly closed eyelids. He wasn’t sure why he bothered closing his eyes anymore. He could still feel everything, in excruciating detail.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t exactly feel it, his body shut down long ago, but he knew enough to know that he never stopped hurting, not really.

He could hear the sound of a knife being drawn from a sheath; he was intimately familiar with that sound.

It was a bitter, brittle sound, steel on steel. He flinched and began to shake. He wasn’t cold, but he couldn’t stop shivering. His knees trembled, his limbs convulsed violently, and once more, he closed his eyes. Funny how the saying “Go to Hell,” means more once you’ve been there.

None of this stopped him from hearing the wheezy, smug voice in his ear.

_“Now, now Dean, you know we aren’t done. We’re never done. Open your eyes.”_

His head trembled minutely. _No._

 _“Open your eyes.”_ He shook his head aggressively this time. _No!_ He didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew what was waiting for him.

Sam. Cas. Mary. John. Kevin. Charlie. Garth. Ellen. Jo. All of them, dead, strung up and carved open. But, when he opened his eyes he knew that he wouldn’t be strapped to a chair anymore.

No, he would be there before his family, their eyes open and glassy, unseeing, yet still judging him. Shaming him.

He would be standing there, in the middle of the room, with a bloody knife in his hand, his stomach churning, and Alistair crooning praise in his ear. He couldn’t see that. Not him, not his family.

 _“Open your eyes, Dean,”_ came that cruel voice.

“ _Open your eyes.”_

“Dean!”

 _“_ Dean, open your eyes.”

He did. He sat bolt upright, in his bed, in the bunker, with a concerned brother to his left, and a distressed angel above him.

“Dean, you’re okay,” Sam was the first to speak.

Cas stood silently, tense and ready to jump to his defense at any moment, though Dean wasn’t sure how he thought he could fix this.

“I’m fine.” _Jesus_ , was that _his_ voice? It sounded rough, and broken, not like the honeyed gravel he was accustomed to.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, clearing his throat and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The change in orientation caused his stomach to turn.

“I’m gonna hurl,” he croaked out, lunging for the bathroom by his room. His legs crumpled under him, and he was sure his face would have had a tragic and swift meeting with the hard floor.

Luckily, Cas was by his side in a flash, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders. Sam immediately hooked an arm around his waist, all but carrying him to the bathroom.

“’m not an invalid,” he grumbled, but accepted the help anyways.

After an hour or so bent over the toilet, he stumbled back to his bed, Sam and Cas trailing behind like puppies after their master.

Dean wanted them to leave and ignore this whole thing, but knew they wouldn’t. They were obviously aware that he had nightmares, but he hadn’t wanted them to ever see him at his weakest.

 _The great Dean Winchester_ , he thought bitterly, _brought to his knees by a memory._

Cas must have sensed his self deprecating mental berating, because he looked at him sideways, questioning. Dean looked away, ignoring the blatant question in the angel’s gaze.

He avoided looking at them both, focusing on walking to his bed like it required all of his attention to do that much.

He got into bed, and turned his face into his pillow, signaling that the conversation was over before it began.

Sam didn’t get the hint, or chose to ignore it, more likely.

“Dean,” he began, “you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Dean groaned to himself, figures that the giant girl would be the one to talk at a time like this.

He buried his head in deeper.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who gets nightmares,” Sam continued. Glancing at Dean and his lack of reaction, Sam continued.

“I know that my experience doesn’t compare, but don’t for a second think that I’m not afraid of losing you, or hurting you. I know you, Dean. You aren’t afraid for yourself, not really, you’re afraid for everyone around you.” Sam persevered.

“You are a good man.” Dean scoffed under his breath.

“You are the Righteous Man,” Cas picked up after Sam.

“You have done so much good for this world, _do not_ doubt the fact that you are better for this world in it than dead.” The conviction in Cas’s voice was a little grounding, even if he didn’t believe it.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice as suddenly soft, “you are not going back to Hell.”

That gave him pause, made him still. He heard Sam sharply suck in a breath, clearly coming to his own revelation of Dean’s emotions.

“You are never going back, and you will never become what you have hunted.” At that, Dean turned his head, just a little to see Cas’s face.

His face was scrunched up, determined and unbending. Sam knelt by Dean’s side and placed his hand on Dean’s neck, a gesture they both often made as a sign of comfort and solidarity.

Dean melted into it a little bit.

Cas laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, right where his hand print had been before it had healed. Right after he had pulled him from Hell.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a little surprised to find his eyes and cheeks wet with silent tears.

“I can’t go back.” His voice cracked, embarrassingly raw.

Both hands tightened on him, and grounded him a little more.

“You never will, Dean,” Cas was solid in his statement and presence.

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” agreed Sam, moving to brush the sweaty hair from his forehead in a weirdly comforting gesture.

Dean broke. He sobbed, he hiccupped, he shook with tears.

But, he knew that he was safe. He was safe with these two, because when everyone else had gone, they had stayed by his side through the good and bad.

When he couldn’t believe in a higher power, or people, or even himself, he had these two: a fallen angel, and a moose of a brother.

It’s funny how the saying “Go to Hell,” means more once you’ve been there. But, now he didn’t flinch at the thought. He straightened and stood with his brothers, and felt stronger than he had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate making titles, that's why this one is so crap. Anyways, I've noticed that I'm better with one-shots than stories, so expect more of those. Sorry I haven't been writing a lot, my muse seems to be hibernating.


End file.
